


breathing and other rhythms that used to be easy

by FearlessMayProceed



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25715377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FearlessMayProceed/pseuds/FearlessMayProceed
Summary: Virgil awakes from a nightmare which causes him to be begrudgingly worried about his former friends/mortal enemies. He frets then decides to do something about it. All he has to do is slip in, check on them and slip out, no one has to know. Easy as pie.It doesn't go as planned.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders
Comments: 26
Kudos: 286





	breathing and other rhythms that used to be easy

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this turned out a lot longer than I thought it would. Whoops
> 
> Title is a reference to Regina Spektor's song One More Time with Feeling
> 
> I'm not even sure if this is any good, but here's my first Sanders Sides fic regardless
> 
> Warnings  
> General anxiety and irrational fear for someone's safety, brief descriptions of death, blood and bodies but not overly graphic, the first part is basically just a panic spiral, general Remus warnings (talks of murder and kidnapping) and gore because of him but no one is actually hurt, panic attack, swearing
> 
> Enjoy!

Virgil’s eyes snapped open. He could hear his breathing, ragged and harsh, and feel a dampness on his cheeks that tasted of salt.

Virgil lay still as he tried to remember how to breathe, staring up at his ceiling, invisible in the pitch black of night. After a few seconds of desperate gulping, he decided he was sick of the burning in his chest.

Clenching his fists, he held his breath, ignoring the panicked whisper in his head about the lack of oxygen. He counted to seven slowly, eyes fixed upwards, concentrating hard. Once he reached seven, he let out the breath, deliberately slow, even as he felt his lungs cry for air.

Once this was done, Virgil started up his regular breathing exercise, four…seven…eight…it took an agonisingly long time to sort his lungs out but halting the never-ending cycle of hyperventilating by refusing to breathe had done the trick.

Virgil gave a smug smile, _take that stupid anxiety_ , before wriggling around until he was comfy again.

After shifting his pillow a bit and cocooning himself in his duvet, Virgil was finally satisfied. He let out one last steady breath and felt his eyes slip shut.

Images of blood splattered across his eyelids and he jerked them open, launching himself into an upright position.

Virgil’s breathing sped up once more.

“Fuck,” Virgil said shakily, after he had regained control.

He ran trembling fingers through his hair and moved so he could feel the steady presence of the wall on his back.

“Right okay, let’s not do that,” Virgil muttered.

A small flare of warmth flowed through him as his voice broke the silence, immediately followed by a rush of annoyance. He should not need the sound of his own voice to feel calm, especially since there was no danger. He was just sitting in his bed, in his perfectly safe bedroom, no reason to be afraid.

Virgil sat obstinately for a few minutes, arms crossed, glaring at the darkness. The lack of sound was deafening in his ears but that didn’t make any sense, so he ignored it. It was only once the silence started to become strangely physical, pressing on his shoulders, tightening his chest, freezing him solid in place, that he relented.

“Fine! Whatever! Alright, I’m now speaking out loud to myself, as if it makes any difference, are you happy?”

Virgil was instantly rewarded with the loosening of his limbs and the renewed ability to move.

He scowled.

“Fuck you too.”

Virgil let out a sigh and let his head flop back, so it was resting on the wall.

He fixed his eyes on the dim glow coming from the hallway through the crack in the door.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just sitting, and talking and keeping my eyes open and- fuck!”

Virgil tensed up as the dark of his room was momentarily replaced with red and the air smelt of copper and the bodies were limp with glassy unseeing eyes and he couldn’t see through his tears, but he knew they were dead and gone and bleeding and-

Virgil rapped his knuckles on the wall behind him, the slight sting enough to jolt him from the memory of the nightmare. This was enough for him to give up on sleep for the night.

He leaned over to his bedside table and turned on his lamp.

There was a second before the light appeared where he tensed, certain that something was going to be lying in wait in the darkness, that he wasn’t alone, that his dream had become a reality-

But no. His room looked like it always did, in all its spooky purple glory.

Unless…

Virgil let out an exasperated sigh and waited impatiently for the thought to fade.

It didn’t, so Virgil, very begrudgingly, checked under his bed.

There was nothing there. Obviously.

The tightness in his chest loosened slightly.

Virgil rolled his eyes and grabbed a book off the floor. The book, borrowed from Logan, well, stolen with the intention of eventual return, would hopefully be enough of a distraction to keep his mind calm for the rest of the night.

He didn’t want to think about the dream, because it was just that, a stupid dream. A fake scenario his brain thought it would be fun to mess him up with. It wasn’t real.

He adjusted his pillows to create a cosy alcove, shifted until he was comfortable, then he settled down for a night of reading.

It wasn’t real.

He turned a page, scanning the book for where he left off.

It wasn’t real.

He began to read.

But what if it was?

Scowling, he forced his eyes back to the top of the page, having taken in precisely none of it.

What if they were dead or bleeding out, and he was just sitting here ignoring it?

No, that’s stupid, his dreams aren’t prophetic, just regular old nightmares.

But what if?

Virgil was pretty sure sides can’t even die, so the whole thing was a moot point! Remus had proven that enough times, during his dissection obsession where he had decided the best test subject was himself.

Virgil sunk lower in his bed at the thought of Remus, shaking his head to try and eradicate the swell of emotions.

His eyes moved once again to the top of the page.

Everything was fine.

After three more instances of having to start the page again, Virgil sprung from his bed, tossing the useless book aside.

He began pacing the length of his room.

“Okay, what’s the worst case scenario?”

They’re lying in a pool of their own blood, red stains the floor, lifeless eyes filled with accusation and tears.

“Alright then, what’s the worst case realistic scenario?”

They’re lying in a pool of their own blood, red stains the floor, lifeless eyes filled with accusation and-

“Fuck!” Virgil lets out a shout of frustration, then remembers that the others’ rooms are right next to his. He thinks about this for a second.

“Fuck.” He whispers. Job accomplished, no one disturbed, everything is a-okay.

Virgil groans, rubbing his face with his hands. He just wants to sleep. His limbs feel heavy, as if weighed down by concrete or bricks or people’s expectations of him. His eyes are gritty and swollen, longing to close and stay closed for a reasonable amount of time for once. Virgil aches with the desire to let them, but the prospect of the nightmare keeps them open wide.

“Okay, try again. Best case scenario is that they are happily asleep in their beds like all sensible people at this time of night, dreaming up their next evil plot to screw everyone over with.”

Virgil thought about this.

It made sense. It was the most logical scenario. There was no reason for it not to be the case.

So why couldn’t he believe it?

He sighed.

Janus and Re- Deceit and the Duke were fine. There was no reason to think they wouldn’t be.

A very small, vindictive, part of him wondered why he cared if they were dead. Good riddance. He’s never have to stumble through the minefield that was conversation with them ever again.

He squashed this thought. It was a very tiny petty voice and he wanted nothing to do with it.

Virgil didn’t want the two of them dead, who knows what that would do to Thomas?

It would probably be a bad thing. At least, Logan said all components of Thomas were necessary and Logan has been proven right enough times that Virgil was inclined to believe him.

Besides-

(faux wrestling that ends when they fall off the back of the sofa or crash into the table, competitions determining the sneakiest and spookiest side that lasted weeks, appearing behind the others and screaming boo, dinners derailed with a rant about the failures of society that got progressively louder and more spirited as they chimed with sly contradictions, calculated to create the maximum rage, movie nights that ended with a dog pile, the warmth of people that have known him for so long there is no longer a fear of vulnerability)

(heated arguments that end without resolution, icy glares and pointed silences, the final slamming of a door)

-Virgil didn’t want them dead, no matter how complicated his feelings towards them are.

It didn’t matter, since they were fine.

It was dumb to feel dread and fear coursing through his veins.

“Anything you feel isn’t dumb!”

“While it is important to recognise these thoughts as irrational, it is illogical to put yourself down to do so, as this just creates a worse state of mind.”

“Come now, Doctor Gloom! Fear is noble foe, one that you are able to defeat.”

Virgil let out a gentle huff, a small grin appearing on his face despite himself.

His family had been cracking down on his self-negativity recently, with a method found by Logan that countered it with positive affirmations. Apparently they had done this so much that his brain now filled in the empty space after the negative thought.

Maybe he would tell Logan in the morning, he would be interested in the experiment’s effect.

If morning ever arrived.

If only he could go to sleep and forget about the others, focus on the love his current family had for him. Forget about his old and broken family.

Forget that they might be dying right now.

They would die thinking Virgil hated them. Well, he did hate them. Or he was angry with them? Or maybe he had been angry with them, which had then cooled and hardened into a stone that sat on his chest whenever he thought about them, crushing his lungs and causing an ache in his chest that was only partially made from anger.

He didn’t like to think about the other emotions that made up the ache. It was a maelstrom of feelings, twisting together in tangles thorns. Virgil thought it was only polite to ignore the portion of made from sorrow. It was easier to focus on the anger.

They aren’t dead or dying, or anything like that! They are fine! Asleep in their beds, happily dreaming up evil sheep or whatever they do. They are fine.

Try as he might, Virgil could not convince himself of this fact. The only way to prove it for certain would be to check on them himself.

Virgil stopped dead like a deer that had spotted a car and was now waiting for the inevitable crash.

No, he was not going to go check on them.

He tried desperately to dismiss the idea, but the thought had its claws in him, headlights signalling the impact.

Virgil knew there was no denying the simplicity of the solution, although he was fighting against it. All he had to do was sneak down to the Dark Side, peek into their bedrooms, see they were asleep and then head back to his room, able to sleep thanks to the confirmation. It would allow him the peace of mind he so desperately needed.

He tried to remind himself of reasons not to, of which there were many.

Actually, there was only one major reason not to, but that reason was the culmination of so many smaller problems that it might as well be counted as many reasons.

What if they spotted him?

He couldn’t be seen to be worried about them, he hadn’t gone back to their part of the mind since that last devastating fight, he definitely wasn’t welcome there and he had no desire to talk to them.

There were so many things that could go wrong that it was stupid to even entertain the thought.

Patton, Logan and Roman could find out he visited and then they would hate him and they would kick him out and he’d have nowhere to go because no one in the mind would want him around-

No. That wouldn’t happen.

Virgil was confident in that thought. No matter what, his family wouldn’t make him leave. The constant assurances and reaffirmations of love on this side of the mind were enough to make him believe that.

There was a chance they would feel hurt and betrayed, but there was no reason they had to find out.

Virgil knew how to sneak around out of sight. He could definitely get around the darker side of the mindscape without disturbing its sleeping inhabitants. All he needed was to pop in, reassure his overactive imagination and pop out, no one would be any the wiser.

Virgil groaned. He knew his mind was made up, he was just prolonging the inevitable at this point. He knew it was unnecessary but the niggling doubt in his mind just wouldn’t go away.

He had to know for certain they were safe.

He grabbed his hoodie, shoved it over his head, then slipped out his door, moving as quietly as he could. 

After expertly stealthing his way past the other sides’ bedrooms, Virgil ended up standing in front of the door that separated the mindscape.

Rarely touched, especially by Virgil, the door looked normal, contrary to the weight of emotions that Virgil attributed to it. Rough, scratched wood with a dented but ornate handle, Virgil thought it loomed ominously in the dark.

Although that could be the sleep deprivation.

Virgil was numbly aware that his body that started to sway without his permission. Rude.

He took a deep breath, staring apprehensively at the door. He could still turn back, resort to lying in bed and staring at his ceiling for the rest of the night but-

(blood, bodies, unseeing eyes)

-that wasn’t really an option.

He closed his eyes, planning on taking a moment to prepare, but the swaying increased alarmingly. Virgil decided preparing was for the weak and well-rested, so he grabbed the handle and entered the others’ portion of the mind.

The darkened hallway was deathly silent as Virgil crept through it. The only light came from around the corner at the end of the hall, beyond which lay the living room and kitchen. He would be worried, but it was more likely that they had forgotten to turn the light out than someone being awake at this hour.

Or they had purposefully left the light on. The gloom of the subconscious hung over this side, no matter how many lights were lit. There was a tendency with the inhabitants in this area to try and combat this by leaving lights on, no matter how ineffective it was.

Virgil crept forwards, reaching the first bedroom door quickly. Black with gold highlights and a nameplate reading ‘Deceit’ in pretentious calligraphy, the door oozed elegance.

Virgil had always said it looked like Janus was trying too hard. Janus had generally responded with a quip about Virgil’s emo aesthetic and that he wasn’t the one trying too hard. The conversation would devolve into well-timed quips and insults, the participants barely able to hide their grins behind a thin veneer of disdain. This would continue until Remus got bored and decided to ‘fix’ both their aesthetics with a neon paint bomb. At least, on the good days it was paint. On bad days it…wasn’t. The day would rapidly descend into chaos from that point on, every side for themselves.

Virgil caught the small smile on his face and deliberately shifted his face into a scowl. This was dangerous territory, a minefield of repressed memories both fond and not so fond.

Virgil thought the good memories might be worse than the bad.

He shook himself, trying to dislodge the thoughts. He just had to get in and out, no reason to pause. He shouldn’t waste time.

Slowly, as if the door handle was bomb designed to go off with fast movement, Virgil reached for the handle and turned it. He was barely breathing, eyes fixed on were the door would open, terrified of what he might see.

As quietly as he possibly could, he pushed the door at a snail’s pace. He held his breath in anticipation, which was let out in a whoosh of relief when he saw the floor was clean and empty. There was no blood staining this pristine carpet.

Virgil continued, desperate now to see Janus and lay those concerns to rest. He opened the door wide enough so he could see the bed.

The sight chilled him. Ice shot through his veins and he took a sudden, shuddering breath. The bed was empty. A feeling of sickness spread through him and he stumbled, clutching the door frame for support with numb fingers.

Janus wasn’t there. Janus was lying dead somewhere and Virgil would never see him again, never snark at him again, never let him know how much he hated him or even be able to apologise and beg for forgiveness.

His breathing was shallow and shaking, speeding up despite Virgil’s wishes. He knew that he needed air in his lungs, but there was suddenly an iron weight preventing this, thick tar filling him and choking him from within. Distantly, he knew he was hyperventilating, although he retained enough presence of mind to keep it quiet, taking silent, shaking breaths. He felt strangely detached, aware of the tears pricking at his eyes like tiny vengeful needles, but his mind was floating and anchored to the spot at the same time.

He didn’t know what to do.

Virgil wasn’t sure how long he stood there, struggling to breathe, frozen in place. Logically, in a back part of his brain, he knew it was only a couple of seconds, but the rest of him felt like this moment in time lasted an eon.

The deafening and thundering silence was broken by a sharp, pointed cough, which served only to lock up Virgil’s limbs further.

There was a pause.

“It’s quite late for a midnight stroll,” Janus’ deliberately smooth voice rang out from behind him.

Relief like lava flowed through him, the warmth unfreezing his limbs and lungs, only to be met with a new wave of terror. Janus had seen him.

“Late and lost Anxiety, what a dreadful combination.” There was ice in Janus’ voice. Virgil slowly turned around, shoulders rocketing upwards, trying to hide from the accusing gaze. The ice was present in Janus’ eyes as well.

Janus started slightly when he caught sight of Virgil’s face. Virgil could see him taking in the reddened eyes and stuttering breathes with narrowed eyes.

“You look like shit.” Janus commented.

Virgil noted the softened tone and bristled.

Sure, he was standing in front of his former friend/mortal enemies’ bedroom door at three in the morning without any socks while breathing like an asthmatic cat but was not a good enough excuse for Janus to go easy on him.

“Fuck off.” He snarled.

Janus raised a pointed eyebrow.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe that out of the two people in this corridor, I am not the one trespassing. Of course, I could be mistaken.”

Virgil sneered. Janus looked unimpressed.

Smug prick.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Virgil demanded roughly. His throat felt like he had been gargling sandpaper. His voice reflected this.

“My apologies, I forgot about the well-known law forbidding people from leaving their beds to get a glass of water between the hours of two and three in the morning.” Janus replied, sarcasm rich in his voice.

Virgil was about to growl at him to answer the question when his sleep-addled mind processed what Janus had said.

“Oh.” He mumbled; mouth strangely numb.

“I believe I have also forgotten the rule that states why it’s any of your business, Anxiety.”

The name cuts like a knife.

“Fuck off.” Virgil should be able to think of a better comeback, but the adrenaline crash had apparently fried his brain.

“As stimulating as this not at all repetitive conversation is, I think I would like to go to bed,” Janus said.

Virgil stared at Janus. Janus stared back; brows raised.

Virgil continued to stare in befuddlement. Janus gave a sigh.

“That means move, Anxiety. You’re blocking the doorway.”

Virgil startled, jumping to the side. He should probably apologise for the disturbance and for standing in the way and for generally being a peculiar nuisance, but the words tangled in his throat and withered to dust.

Janus walked past Virgil into his bedroom. He paused at the doorframe, before turning around to give Virgil one last assessing look.

Virgil watched as Janus’ grip tightened and his mouth opened.

For a second, Virgil is convinced Janus will reach out and comfort him, that the Janus from Virgil’s good memories, from before everything got complicated, will rise up and reassure him in the way only Janus’ silver tongue could ever do. For a single shining second, Virgil wanted this more than anything.

The thought made Virgil flinch.

Janus’ mouth closed without a sound, the tension removed from his frame deliberately as if a switch had been flicked. He returned to the suave persona that Virgil knew was a mask in times of confusion.

Virgil wondered if he too has thorns climbing his throat.

“Move along now Anxiety, you wouldn’t want to stick around here too long,” Janus sounded calm and collected and he smirked as he made a small shooing gesture with his hand.

“Good night Deceit,” Virgil said quietly. He felt a small vindictive pleasure at the slight twist in Janus’ face at the sound of his title.

Janus took a deep breath, released it, then shut the door in Virgil’s face.

Virgil stood still, staring at the painfully familiar door.

He has stood outside this door countless times before. When he was younger, after a nightmare he would come and stare at the door, shaking as he plucked up the courage to finally knock. When he was older, he wouldn’t even hesitate to slam the door open for any reason, to hide after pranking Remus, to tell Janus about the latest catastrophic event that would ruin Thomas’ life, to ambush Janus with Remus so they could wrestle him into the living room.

When the cracks started deepening, he stood outside fuming at a door slammed in his face. In the evening of the same day, he would stand outside with an apology hot chocolate, feeling like a small child again as he hesitated for so long that the drink would cool before he would eventually knock and enter sheepishly.

After everything broke, Virgil would stand outside and stare at a door that he no longer had the courage to knock on before walking away to curl up in his own room. He wondered how much time Janus had spent staring at Virgil’s door before it had been whisked away to the other side of the mindscape.

Virgil closed his eyes briefly and shook off the miasma of the past.

He glanced at the door back to the main section of the mind. Janus had made it pretty clear that he should leave immediately. He should go back to his room and lie on his bed and try to forget this night ever happened.

Instead of leaving, Virgil looked towards Remus’ door.

Virgil was aware that this was irrational. If Remus was hurt or dying Janus would have definitely heard. Also, the idea of Remus actually being hurt by something, when his bizarre experiments involving either weapons or scalpels or just a good old-fashioned hand plunged into the wrong place had failed to have any sort of lasting impact, was laughable. Remus was fine and the logical part of Virgil’s brain knew it.

Too bad there wasn’t a lot of logic in anxiety.

Virgil had to make sure. He had to. He may have already blown it with Janus but that wasn’t enough to deter him.

Virgil needed to know Remus was safe.

Virgil turned and began creeping down the corridor towards Remus’ room. He was so focused that he didn’t notice when the door he had just left opened up again.

“You’re going in the wrong direction,” Janus spoke from behind him and Virgil let out a small startled squeak, heart racing. He whipped around and glared at Janus to make up for the indignity.

Or at least he would have, but, during the spin, his swaying returned in full force and he stumbled into the wall. Once that embarrassment was over, Virgil proceeded to glare at Janus.

“Why?” He whisper-hissed, clutching the wall for support.

Janus returned the glare with his usual cool gaze.

“What are you doing here?” Janus asked.

“Nothing! None of your business,” Virgil snapped then felt mildly guilty about it, “Just go back to bed, I’ll be gone soon.”

Virgil kept on glancing behind him. He just needed to check. Remus could be hurt right now, and he was just wasting time.

Janus didn’t move. He was silent as he surveyed Virgil, then he sighed. His stiffened posture relaxed into a more natural slouching pose, betraying his own tiredness as he rubbed his face with his hands.

“Okay,” Janus said then he moved.

Virgil watched with wary eyes as Janus approached Virgil, stopping right in front of him. He briefly reached out his hand to Virgil then winced and retracted it.

Virgil was glad. He wasn’t sure how he’d react to a comforting touch from Janus.

“We both know you wouldn’t enter this place unless you thought the world was ending,” Janus’ voice was quiet even as the tone remained flippant, “So what’s wrong? Why are you here?”

Virgil couldn’t stop his eyes flickering between Remus’ door (intact, well, as intact as Remus’ door ever was), Janus’ throat (clean as usual, not dripping with blood) and the beige carpet (not stained with a red that would never come out).

“I just-“ Virgil’s voice faltered and he gave an awkward cough, as if the lump in his throat was physical and not a metaphorical stone gifted from his own mind.

“I just needed to check on you, on both of you,” Virgil muttered, eyes now fixed on the carpet. He didn’t particularly want to see Janus’ reaction.

There was silence for a couple of painfully long seconds then a whoosh of air.

“Oh Virgil, nightmare?” The softness of Janus’ voice made Virgil snarl. He looked up angrily.

“Don’t pretend to care,” The stone had fallen into his chest, a molten weight that burned bitterly.

He knew Janus didn’t care and it was cruel of him to act otherwise.

There was a tiny part of him that wondered if maybe it wasn’t an act, maybe he did care, maybe the bridges burnt were reparable after all.

Virgil squashed this part. It was naïve and hopeful and would make everything worse in the end. Nothing was more painful than the crash of false hope.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Janus said, still in that same damnable tone.

Virgil had to make it go away.

“Don’t read into this or anything, it doesn’t mean I care about either of you.”

This was true, so why did it feel so much like a lie?

Janus’ face tightened.

“Trust me Virgil, you’ve made your position on that quite clear.” Janus said, softness replaced by a bitter edge.

Good. That was good. Even if it felt like poison.

“So did you,” Virgil muttered then felt immediately annoyed at himself. It sounded too hurt and pitiful. He could see Janus opening his mouth to respond so quickly moved the conversation forward.

“I just-I just needed to make sure.” Virgil clarified, hoping that would be the end of it.

Janus closed his mouth and surveyed Virgil. Finally he nodded.

“Okay,” Janus said with an air of acceptance.

“What?” Virgil was confused.

“Okay, if that’s the only way to get rid of you, then come on, let’s check on Remus.” Janus didn’t wait for Virgil to respond, striding forwards towards Remus’ door.

Virgil gaped after him. His mind couldn’t process the sudden derailment of the conversation.

Janus reached the door and looked back, brows raised.

“You look like a fish, do try to keep up.”

That got the train back on track.

Virgil scowled and hurried after Janus.

“Yeah well, you look like a daffodil’s emo phase,” He shot back once he was standing next to Janus.

Janus blushed slightly. His pyjamas followed the same yellow and black colour palette as the rest of his clothes, with a pattern that was annoyingly close to the curves of flower petals.

Virgil cut off Janus’ mutterings about emos and glass houses by carefully opening the door. Luckily, with Janus standing next to him, there was no time to ruminate on the past instances of see this door.

(the door was a mess of cracks, a jagged pattern that looked like the door had been shredded or blown up then stuck back together splinter by splinter with neon green glue multiple times, Virgil had watched this happen twice and heard it happen at least ten times more)

Well, there wasn’t a _lot_ of time.

Virgil finished pushing the door open, and there he was. Remus was sprawled across the bed in his usual haphazard fashion, one arm and his head falling off the side and one leg sticking upright against the wall. He looked peaceful.

Virgil let out a sigh, but the relief didn’t last long. Remus’ duvet covered his chest and he wasn’t making any noise. Virgil couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. Dying silently in his sleep seemed like an anticlimactic way for a being of chaos to go but maybe the irony was the point. Maybe this was the one thing that could kill him.

Virgil barely noticed his breathing speeding up but Janus did.

Virgil’s eyes were fixed on Remus but in Virgil’s periphery he was distantly aware of Janus rolling his eyes.

Janus then rapped sharply on the side of the door, “Remus, time to wake up!”

Virgil started, but that was nothing compared to Remus. He rocketed upwards, like a coiled spring finally being let loose. Remus landed head first onto the bed then catapulted out of it, grinning the whole time as the flurry of movement finally ended with his two feet planted on the floor.

“Oh, Jan! Are we doing secret dealings in the dead of night?” Remus exclaimed, bouncing up and down. He wasn’t yet facing the door, instead he was rummaging around the desk next to his bed, “I have a list of all the different sacrifices that can be done under the moonlight!”

Finally, he turned, a scruffy notebook clenched in his hand, still vibrating with excitement.

The movement stopped when he spotted Virgil.

He looked between the two of them before he rushed forwards, grin returned in full force, “Oh my gods, are we sacrificing little Anxiety? Janus, you spoil me so!”

Virgil jerked back, hissing.

“I will bite your hand off before you can even touch your ritual candles,” He snarled. He was still reeling from u-turn his brain had to take from mourning Remus’ untimely demise to actually having to interact with both his former friends in one night. He wondered briefly which situation was worse.

“Kinky!” Remus said brightly. The smile stayed put even as he turned to Janus with a questioning quirk of his eyebrows.

Janus had a soft smile on his face, clearly amused by Remus’ reaction.

Virgil looked away, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. He knew genuine smiles from these two would never be thrown his way again, not that he wanted them, but the memories of that smile directed at him flooded his brain regardless. Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes, but he blinked fiercely and shoved them away.

“Hate to disappoint, but I’m afraid there are no sacrifices planned for tonight,” Janus said, giving Remus a brief pat of condolence, “Anxiety here just wanted to check on us apparently.”

Remus sagged in disappointment, pouting in an exaggerated fashion, “Awww, are you sure?”

“Quite sure, Remus dear.”

Janus and Remus were now standing side by side, looking at Virgil. Silhouetted by the light at the end of the corridor, Virgil couldn’t make out a lot of their faces. Only their eyes stood out, glowing faintly yellow and green respectively in the dark. Virgil couldn’t tell what they were thinking. He wondered if they could read his thoughts in the glow from his own eyes.

He wondered what they would find if they could.

“How come ickle Virgey wanted to come and check on little old us? Seeing if he could kill us in our sleep?” Remus turned to Janus, taking his piercing overly bright gaze off Virgil

“Yes, you’re exactly right Remus. Luckily I foiled his dastardly plot with a simple glass of water,” Janus replied.

“Ooh! How do you think he would’ve done it? Poison? Knife through the throat? Set a fire, lock the doors and stay long enough to hear our screams as our flesh melted away?” Remus asked, beginning to bounce up and down once more.

“Hey, I’m standing right here,” Virgil grumbled, trying desperately to remove the images Remus’ words had created from his mind, “Don’t talk about me like I’m not.”

“Well, if that’s not what you came here for, why are you here?” Remus directed the question to Virgil this time.

Virgil ducked his head away, avoiding Remus’ gaze. Now that he had confirmation, his panicked thoughts just seemed embarrassing.

“I came to see if you were alright, don’t make a thing about it,” Virgil told the floor.

He heard Remus turn once more to Janus and heard Janus whisper, “Nightmare, I think.”

Virgil scowled at the floor.

“Why didn’t you say so?” Remus’ voice was far too exuberant for it being three in the morning, not that it was anything new, “Here I can prove my heart’s still beating!”

Virgil knew he shouldn’t look up. Knew it with a certainty born from years of living with Remus and his various eccentricities. He heard Janus’ protest being cut of by a damp, squishy, tearing sound, a wet plop and the deep, amplified da-dum of a heartbeat.

He looked up anyway.

Remus was now covered in blood, a dark gaping hole in his chest, a manic grin splattered with red and a still beating heart held in his gore-covered hand. Virgil dimly noticed that all the relevant tubes seemed to still be attached, but that’s all he could think before a rush of static filled his ears and sight.

Remus was- Remus was (still breathing, he’s fine, nothing’s wrong) covered in blood, his face was pale, eyes unseeing. Virgil wasn’t aware of what was real and what was in his head, nightmare overlapping with reality seamlessly. A slash through his throat (no, his throat is fine, everything is fine) that was seeping and gushing and pouring, until nothing was left. Janus next to him with a matching wound, along with multiple punctures along his body, staining his stupid cloak an even darker black (Janus is fine, not even a drop of blood, he stepped out the way, he’s not even wearing the capelet) that oozed and dripped and it was too much.

Virgil gasped, then stopped breathing. The screaming, thudding sound of his heart was too loud and the stone, ice, steel in his lungs prevented air from getting in and he couldn’t feel his fingers from the jarring numbness tingling and stabbing through them. Was he also dying?

Distantly he heard an “Oh shit,” and a rush of air as the world spun and he dropped to his knees. The static covered his vision and even if he could hear the garbled mumble of voices through the buzzing in his ears, he couldn’t make out any words.

Pressure, a touch on his arm. He flinched away. It felt like fire and needles, making his skin crawl as he shuddered.

“Don’t-don’t touch me,” He rasped, forcing the words past the icicles in his throat.

“Okay, okay, Virgil, no touching yet, I’ve got it. I’m just going to kneel in front of you, and Remus is going to sit to the side there and we’re not touching, but we’re alright and we’re not going to leave. I want you to listen to my voice and I’ll keep going unless you want me to stop. Can you hear me Virgil?”

Slowly, the steady, calm voice broke through the haze. Understanding took longer, but Virgil was aware enough to jerk his head in response to the question.

“That’s good Virgil, well done, you’re doing great. Can you try breathing in for four? I’ll count with you.”

Virgil tried, he tried really hard to follow along, but he only succeeded in choking himself, he sobbed, “I-I can’t.”

“That’s alright, it’s okay Virgil, we’ll try something different. You just listen to my voice and try again when you feel ready. I’ve been reading a new philosophy book recently on the philosophy of existentialism which is the theory that nothing in life has been aside from the meaning you give to it. This is a simplified explanation, but it is a theory that believes that the meaning of life is what you make of it…”

The voice continued, soothing the buzzing in Virgil’s head. He found it hard to concentrate on the meaning, but the steady rhythm of the words washed over him and gave him something to focus on that wasn’t a scene ripped straight out of a horror film. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, letting the words push back against the static.

He could also feel a rhythmic tapping on the floor, originating somewhere to the left of the voice. He listened and realised that the beat was in the structure of four, seven, eight. Once he realised this, with the help of the voice to calm him, he tried to match his stuttering, choked breathing to the pattern.

This went on for several minutes as Virgil fought to keep his breathing under control. As time went on the miscellaneous impossible sensations he had felt, fire, ice, pain, began to fade, leaving behind a dull ache as a reminder of their presence.

Virgil opened his eyes. His vision was blurred but he could see knees covered in yellow and black flower print in front of him and a hand covered in lime green bangles and bracelets, clean of blood, tapping on the floor to the left of the knees.

“….of course, there are some flaws, but overall I believe the theory to be a positive one.” The voice stopped suddenly, “Virgil? Is touch alright now or should I continue?”

Virgil wasn’t sure he could speak, his throat seemed to have clamped shut. Instead, he extended one shaky finger, an old signal for the first option.

Once he had, the hand disappeared from the floor. Virgil panicked slightly, how would he keep count? But the movement to his left ended with a warm weight behind him as he was manoeuvred into leaning against the person behind him. The hand continued its tapping, except this time it was on Virgil’s arm, a steady beat that reverberated through his whole body.

Virgil then extended two fingers and the voice continued its philosophy talk, except this time a hand snaked forwards and gripped his own.

Virgil sat there, warmth radiating from the presence behind him and a grounding pressure holding his hand. He could feel the heartbeat through his back, a little fast but strong and constant. Virgil shifted his hand so his fingertips were brushing the inner wrist below the hand holding him. The heartbeat was comforting in its consistency.

They’re alive, they’re fine, everything’s fine, the heartbeats seemed to say with every thud, alive, alive, alive.

Virgil slowly relaxed, sinking into the body behind him. He felt drained, weak and exhausted, but his head was clearer than it had been all night. He let out a final deep breath and brought his eyes up to meet Janus’.

Janus stopped talking once he saw the clarity in Virgil’s eyes.

“Do you think it’s over?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Virgil said shakily. He thought for a couple of seconds, “Fuck.”

The corner of Janus’ lip quirked up, but he quickly suppressed it.

“Eloquent as always Virgil,” Janus drawled. Virgil responded with a middle finger.

Virgil sat in silence, happy to have regained control of his lungs, even as his whole body felt like it had been on a twelve-mile run without his permission.

He thought for a couple more seconds.

“Hey Remus?”

“Yeeeees?”

“Fuck you,” Virgil said.

“Well, if you insist!” Remus began wriggling underneath Virgil.

Virgil elbowed him in the stomach, “No.”

Remus stopped moving. There were a couple more seconds of silence as the three of them sat there and breathed.

Eventually Remus moved. He shifted so he could rest his chin on top of Virgil’s head. Virgil could feel his warm breath ruffling his hair.

“Sorry,” Remus said, subdued.

“It’s-“ fine is what he wanted to say, but it wasn’t really. He tried again, “I’m fine, it’s been brewing all night, you can’t help that my stupid brain overreacted.”

Remus flicked him in the head after the word ‘stupid’ and Janus squeezed his hand.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” Remus said, and Virgil tried not to flinch.

“I don’t,” He lied. This time he failed to restrain the flinch as he looked at Janus, who had a thoughtful expression.

“You know, you’ve never been a very good liar Virgil,” Janus mused.

“Fuck you,” Virgil shot back.

“You’re rather a one-trick pony tonight, don’t you have any other refrains?”

Virgil bit his tongue to prevent his first instinctual response to this, that would only prove Janus’ point.

“I’m tired, alright? We can’t all have a plethora of insults waiting to fall out our mouths,” Virgil retorted, after an embarrassingly long pause.

“Plethora? Ten points to Virgil, did you swallow a dictionary?” Janus smirked.

“Sorry, were you saving it for breakfast?” Virgil snarked back. It was frightening how easy it was to fall into familiar patterns, easy as breathing to exchange snipes with Janus as he trusted Remus to keep him upright.

“Do you think if you ate a dictionary, you’d start to shit out the words from a to z? One shit for every word, it would take forever,” Remus said dreamily, clearly already imagining it.

Virgil snorted, suppressing a laugh.

“Are you suggesting your poos would spell out each word?” He asked.

Virgil could practically feel Remus light up with glee.

“Antidisestablishmentarianism would break the toilet,” Remus giggled. Virgil could feel him bouncing up and down a little beneath him.

“Lovely,” Said Janus, who couldn’t quite hide his smile.

Virgil didn’t want this moment to end. He wanted to stay in this happy little bubble of avoidance for as long as possible. But he had to pop the bubble eventually.

“No, uhh, Logan has started doing a word of the day thing,” Virgil mumbled, pointedly not looking at either of them.

“Oh,” Janus drew his hand back and rested it in his own lap.

Remus stiffened behind Virgil.

Virgil shifted awkwardly, staring at the floor.

Janus sighed. He sounded tired.

“Why are you here Virgil?”

Virgil’s head snapped up.

“I already told you, and you figured out the rest yourself, what do you get in making me admit it?” Virgil growled. He was sick of that question, especially when he knew the irrationality of his choice to come here.

“No, I know that, I mean, why come?” Janus ran an agitated hand through his hair, then locked eyes with Virgil, “You hate us Virgil, you’ve made that quite clear, so why did you care enough to come?”

Virgil found he couldn’t look away.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to die!” He protested.

“Maybe he wanted to inspect our corpses,” Remus mused, chin like an anvil on Virgil’s head, “Or finish the job himself.”

“No!” Virgil leaned forwards and pushed Remus back so he could glare up at him, “I don’t want you dead!”

Remus leered down at him, “Colour me surprised.”

Virgil scowled and shoved him. Remus caught his wrists in a leaden grip, which Virgil couldn’t break free from despite his, admittedly feeble, struggles.

He stopped.

“I don’t-“ Virgil stared at Remus t-shirt, black with a neon green skull, and twisted it in his hands, “I never wanted you to go away.”

“You’re the one who left Virgil,” Janus’ cool voice rang out like a gun.

Virgil whipped around, which was hard since Remus still had hold of him.

“Don’t make it sound like it was all my fault, you kicked me out!” He snarled.

“You wanted to leave!” Janus was breathing heavily, staring at Virgil, “Don’t pretend otherwise, I know you wanted to leave.”

Virgil felt like crying from frustration.

“I wanted to help Thomas! All I ever wanted was to help Thomas! I didn’t want to leave you two,” It felt like they were replaying all the greatest hits of their past arguments, except this time there was the additional weight of years of not speaking thrown into the mix.

“Don’t lie to us Virgil, that’s just cruel,” Janus tutted, making a performance of shaking his head. Virgil could see the hurt he was hiding.

“It’s not a lie,” He ground out between gritted teeth.

Janus raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed.

“It’s not- I mean, maybe by the end, after all the fighting,” He conceded, then carried on, “But not to start with.”

Virgil let out a huff of laughter, “I definitely didn’t want to move in with the others’ back then.”

“That changed,” Remus whispered, an edge to his voice.

Virgil nodded, “Yeah, that changed.”

He let out a weary sigh, the weight in his limbs turning to stone, “I never thought it would get this bad.”

They sat in silence for a bit. Remus released Virgil’s wrists and he resumed his position leaning against him. Janus did not reach out his hand again.

After a while, Remus spoke.

“So, you don’t hate us?”

“I do!” Virgil snapped, then he deflated, “Or I did? I don’t know, I was really angry with you and now…”

“Now?” Janus prompted.

“I don’t know,” Virgil said, shrugging, “I’m still angry but…”

He paused. He wasn’t sure he wanted to admit this. He wasn’t even sure he was ready to admit this to himself.

“It doesn’t matter, you guys hate me,” Virgil ignored the way his voice wavered in the middle of that, “So it’s a moot point to begin with.”

Janus exchanged looks with Remus over the top of Virgil’s head.

“And if I said we didn’t hate you,” Janus said carefully, “What would you say?”

Virgil paused. He deliberated.

“I would say that-“ He bit his lip, but continued, “That I really really miss you sometimes. Even when I’m mad.”

Janus sucked in a gasp of air.

“Right,” Janus said, voice wobbling, “Okay then.”

Virgil looked up at him.

“We don’t hate you, even if we are angry at you,” Janus stated with confidence as Remus wrapped his arms around Virgil.

“I only want to shove you in a blender and turn you into bloody mush a very small percentage of the time,” Remus admitted quietly, “But most of the time, I want to knock you over the head and tie you up and drag you back down here so you can’t leave ever again.”

Virgil turned to look at Remus, squinting at him.

“That wouldn’t work, I would free myself eventually,” Virgil said.

“I created special manacles! They don’t even let your fingers move,” Remus sounded proud.

Virgil thought about it.

“How would I eat?” He asked eventually.

“Remus suggested a doggy bowl when I pointed out that flaw to him,” Janus interjected.

“Or we could feed you by hand!” Remus exclaimed.

“I’d bite you,” Virgil pointed out.

“I brought attention to that flaw as well,” Janus sounded like he’d had this discussion several times in the past, all of which had presumably ended in his win, since Virgil was not currently chained up to an inch of his life. Virgil wondered if he should thank Janus.

He considered asking how Remus had been planning on letting him use the toilet, then decided he didn’t want to know.

“That’s besides the point,” Janus waved an impatient hand. “We don’t hate you Virgil, no matter what your brain decides to tell you.”

“Oh,” Virgil’s voice was very small.

“Yes, oh,” Janus sounded amused, now that the majority of the messy emotions were out of the way.

“So, what do we do now?” Virgil asked, and he looked at Janus, “I’m still angry, you know, we haven’t actually resolved that.”

Janus waved a nonchalant hand, “A problem for the morning, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

Virgil nodded his head in acknowledgement. He couldn’t really argue against that. He was trying to look Janus sternly in the eyes but was failing due to his eyelids being bastard traitors that kept on closing on him.

“You could sleep in the box I made for kidnapped you,” Remus suggested.

“A box? What, you thought a room was too luxurious?” Virgil should sound more annoyed, but the sleep deprivation, aftermath of a panic attack and gross emotional conversation were ganging up on him, beating him up in a back alley and abandoning for dead, sniggering as they left. He was too tired to be affronted.

“Ah, but Virgil, a room would give you too much time alone to plot our demise,” Janus said, smirking. He had the air of someone repeating something they had heard way too many times.

“Why wouldn’t I be able to plot in the box?” Virgil asked, baffled.

Janus shrugged.

“Oh! That’s because the small space-mmrphhh” Remus was halted in his enthusiastic explanation by Virgil’s hand covering his mouth.

“Nope! No more. I’m tired,” Virgil complained.

Remus wiggled his eyebrows. Virgil withdrew his hand before it could be licked or worse.

“I should go back to my room and sleep,” Virgil said reluctantly. He felt Remus deflate beneath him like a sad clown inflatable punctured by a vindictive kid. A terrifying but pitiable sight.

“Or-“ Janus paused to adjust his gloves, deliberately not looking at Virgil. He was probably aiming for nonchalant, but the end result was just confused, since he didn’t have any gloves on to adjust. “I recently upgraded to a king-sized bed.”

“He’s overcompensating,” Remus solemnly told Virgil. Virgil snorted.

Janus glared at Remus, then continued as if nothing had happened.

“Anyway, it is big enough that it would be possible for all of us to share, leaving us in the optimal position for conversing in the morning.”

Virgil frowned.

“I don’t know…”

What if this was all just an elaborate ploy to get rid of him? Pretend to not hate him then strike him dead when he’s vulnerable? Or even worse, humiliate him while he’s defenceless to fight back?

“Virgil, you’ve been sitting on Remus’ lap for the past quarter of an hour.” Janus looked exasperated, “If we wanted to enact a nefarious plot, we could have done it at any point during that time. We aren’t planning to murder you, we are planning to get you some sleep.”

“There are easier ways to kill someone Virgey-purgey pudding and pie!” Remus sounded thrilled, “I can list them for you if you want.”

“No thank you Remus.”

“Aw…”

Virgil looked at Janus, trying to spot the lie.

“Fine,” Virgil accepted, too exhausted to argue.

Janus smiled. A soft smile that made Virgil’s heart seize. It had been so long since that smile had been directed at Virgil.

Still he had to break the spell that had fallen over all of them.

“You know this doesn’t mean I’m leaving the others,” He said firmly, “I miss you a lot, but this isn’t coming at the cost of my friendship with them. Understood?”

“Perfectly,” Janus smile was that of a predator about to pounce on its prey.

“I mean it Janus, enough with the creepy shit,” Virgil warned.

Janus startled. He stared at Virgil, mouth agape.

“What?” Virgil said, self-conscious at the intensity of Janus’ gaze.

“Nothing,” Janus said, pulling himself together with obvious effort, “It definitely hasn’t been a long time since I heard you say that.”

Virgil winced. He opened his mouth to apologise but…it was something they could talk about in the morning. He gave Janus a small smile instead.

Janus seemed gratified.

“Very well, we can figure out how this will work out with the boy scouts in the mix tomorrow, if that is satisfactory?” Janus asked.

Virgil nodded, which quickly turned into a yawn. He slumped back onto Remus a bit more.

“We could keep them in the box if you’d like?” Remus suggested, not sounding thrilled about the idea. Virgil patted his face gently, appreciating the thought.

“No box,” He tried to say it firmly but sleepiness was oozing through, seeping out his body into his words. He could feel that his eyes were half closed but couldn’t be bothered to fix the situation.

“Right, it’s definitely not time to go to sleep,” Janus decided, standing up in one smooth motion.

He offered a hand down to Virgil but before he could take it, Virgil was launched into the air in one head-rushing movement.

“Remus!” He whisper-screamed, feeling his heart racing.

“No regrets!” Remus yelled, no such worries about volume. He had Virgil gripped securely in a bridal carry and was now racing down the corridor, only skidding to a stop once they’d reached Janus’ door.

Janus followed and smiled indulgently at Remus, ignoring Virgil hissing in protest. He opened the door and they all tumbled in.

It had been so long since Virgil had been in this room, it hit him like a ton of bricks. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, overwhelmed by the sheer force of memories.

Sitting on the carpet while Remus used him as horror make-up practise and Janus read one of his long, complicated books full of contradictions. Curling up under the bed after something had spooked him while Janus coaxed him out and Remus threatened to kill whatever it was for him. Working with Remus mess with all the books in the bookcase, swapping all the titles around, leading to a confused and frustrated Janus who swore revenge. Lying in the bed in a tangled heap, drifting off to the sound of Janus reading a philosophy book out loud, dark enough to appeal to Virgil and Remus.

Virgil’s reminiscing cost him, as he was so caught up in memories he failed to catch the warning signs.

Remus threw him onto the bed, where he landed with an ‘oof’ all the wind knocked out of him. He had no time to prepare as Remus launched himself on top of him, squishing him to the bed.

Remus’ face was inches from his own, grinning wildly.

“No escape,” He whispered.

Virgil rolled his eyes and wriggled about underneath Remus. His arms were thoroughly trapped, preventing him from simply shoving Remus off, but he managed to shift enough that Remus’ body wasn’t crushing him. In fact, it felt quite nice, like a weighted blanket that occasionally talks.

He’d forgotten how relaxing the sensation was, and he was helpless to prevent his body melting into a pile of sleepy goo, his eyes sliding shut from the grounding weight.

This was disrupted by a shove that sent Remus sliding off him. Virgil grumbled in protest, already half asleep.

“Stop hogging him,” Janus ordered, before climbing up next to them and lying down.

Virgil lay there, content in the fact he could hear both their heartbeats as he listened to them grumble and shift around to reach the perfect comfortable position whilst clinging to him like they’d never let go again

Soon enough, Virgil was cocooned in warmth, various limbs thrown over him and hands slipped into his own.

He smiled. They were safe and everything was going to be okay.

Virgil let himself drift off to sleep, content, surrounded by his oldest friends in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit:  
> Writing tumblr is @theflowerscribbles


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